


The day Underfell Felt

by Lady_Asani



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, And Now For Something Completely Different, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Mercy Killing, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Passive-aggression, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Roses, Sans (Undertale) Doesn't Remember Resets, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Undertale Saves and Resets, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 02:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15985967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Asani/pseuds/Lady_Asani
Summary: We all know about the rabbit hole that is UnderTale. A story of a child who falls, rises, and either kills or saves—or simply escapes.But what If that last child wasn’t a child? What if Frisk was a full grown woman? And what if she didn’t fall—but was pushed?It’s high time this tale was told.





	The day Underfell Felt

 

 

Darkness is a funny thing. It, ironically, is very much like fire. It can be both destructive and renewing. Cleansing.

That darkness houses the unknown and mysterious. The unknown is scary. Yet it whets our curious appetite for adventure—we, as humans, tend to seek out forbidden knowledge.   


Darkness can mask intentions, hide motives—or alter them. It can influence you and tempt you to do things you would never dream of doing.

And in darkness is how we both enter and leave this world. From the womb to the grave, darkness is ever present.

But what is the main purpose of darkness? Why is it ever relevant?

Simple.

To contrast the light. To make the light something special, there must be something opposite. Something ominous.

These words are truth. They are the very mystery of life itself. Understanding, appreciating, and being part of a balance. Where there is darkness, light seeks to shine. Where there is light, shadow is born.

Where there is fear, there is hope. And likewise, where there is hope, there is fear.

 

 

\---------------

 

 

Frisk groaned as her eyes fluttered open. Something soft was beneath her. Soil—covered in a bed of roses. And yet, oddly enough, there were no brambles. No thorns. Just silky sweet petals and dainty green stems to cousin her fall.

She groaned as she pushed herself into a sitting position.

Just where was she? How had she gotten there?

Looking up, water dripped from the ceiling. It was dark, and impossible to tell how far she had fallen. It couldn’t have been too far… Much more than two stories and, flowers or not, she would be dead—or at least injured.

She shivered as she looked around the strange cavern she had fallen into… Or had she? She couldn’t recall…

  
Perhaps she fell farther than she thought.

“Howdy.”

A voice pulled her from her dazed and confused thoughts.

“You’re a human. Right?”

Her eyes rested on a small yellow flower. It stood unique among the red roses, resembling a sunflower. With a—a face?

She had to blink a few times before laughing. “That settles it.” She breathed. “I hit my head. I must have—”

  
“Most likely.” The flower agreed with a frown. “Now keep it down! You don’t want any of the monsters to hear you.”

The flowers words served only to confuse her more. “Monsters?” she echoed curiously. She stood up, once more casting a glance up. It was no use currently…. Climbing wasn’t an option with the walls wet as they were—and as dark as it was, she didn’t fancy the thought of a spider or snake biting her during her attempted climb.

“You,uh… kind of old for a human, huh?”

Startled, and be it a little insulted, Frisk bawked as she turned her attention back to the flower.

_It shrugged._

“What?” It asked innocently. “Most humans who come down here are up to your waist at best.”

“I’m 26.” She said. “I wouldn’t say I’m _old._ ”  
  
The flower shrugged once more. “Aint gotta convince me of nothin.” It said haughtily. “But, uh… That means you might find it even harder to survive down here… At least a kid is cute and _might_ get some leeway…”

Frisk frowned, sitting on her ankles and knees to better address the strange flower. “What do you mean?” She asked, tilting her head lightly to the side.

“I mean, in this world, it’s kill or be killed.” The flower frowned.

“That seems rather cold.” She blinked.

  
The flower raised an eyebrow at her. How it did, she chose not to ask. “Are you kidding me?” He, at least she assumed it was a he, asked incredulously. “Wow. You really did hit your head.”  
  
Frisk scowled. “Says the talking fern.”

  
“Flower.” He corrected, crossing his leaves like a person might cross their arms. “Flowey the flower, actually.”

  
“And I’m Frisk. Apparently, Frisk, the heavily concussed.” She replied, standing up once more. She dusted off her knees and looking around, spotting a door this time. Her eyes must have adjusted to the dim light… She could have sworn it had not been there a few moments ago.

  
“Hey now—” Flower spoke up again. “You, uh, aren’t planning on headed that way, are you?”

“Well, I can’t go up.” Frisk stated simply, looking around. She spotted an old rusted knife among the roses and picked it up.

“Thank the gods—at least you’re smart enough to arm yourself.” The flower sighed.

  
“Don’t be silly. This thing is so rusted it couldn’t cut paper—wet.” Frisk said as she tucked it into her back pocket, carefully stepping off the bed of roses.

  
“But then--?”

  
“You never know what might be useful in a dream.” She replied fluidly.

  
“… You—this isn’t a dream you know.” Flowey frowned, following along after her—his roots tilling the soil in his wake. “If anything—it would be a nightmare. Too bad it’s real.”

  
“That remains to be proven.” Frisk countered as she reached the door. For a moment, she found herself admiring the strange purple stone—reaching a hand out to touch the knob. Before her hand even made contact, it opened in for her.

  
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you… You’re just gonna get yourself killed!” the flower protested, lingering along the edge of the flower bed.  
  
“Maybe,” She agreed, “but everyone dies at some point.”

  
Flower frowned at her reasoning, watching her go while shifting on his stem uncomfortably. Her logic wasn’t necessarily faulty, but he saw no need to go and rush the process along…


End file.
